


You Started It

by astudyinkevin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Prank Wars, Teen Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinkevin/pseuds/astudyinkevin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What were the last pranks the boys pulled on each other before deciding things had escalated to far? Sam promises Dean he won't mess with him anymore as long as it's a two way street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Started It

Dean thought it was hilarious watching Sam flail his arms around; trying to get all his layers off after his big (loving) brother put itching powder in his t-shirt. It was winter, so Sam had four layers to peel off. Dean kept laughing even after Sam finally removed all his clothes and hopped into the shower.

 

“You're such a big, fat, _jerk_!” Dean heard Sam's changing voice crack on the last syllable. It made him laugh even harder.

 

“And you're a little bitch!” Dean shouted back towards the bathroom.

 

A week later Sam's torso and back were still red from all the scratching he had done. He huffed in angst on his way home from school. Dean was 16 but he acted like he was 6. Now Sam had to find some way to get his big brother back for the itching powder. Most of the time Sam felt like revenge wasn't the best way to retaliate (pretty much everything he did was against the Winchester Doctrine for Hunting Monsters), but in a prank war with Dean, Sam knew he had to strike back soon or else Dean would win and hold it over his head for a bajillion years.

 

Walking into his family's lovely no-tell motel room, he kicked the door shut before feeding his ant farm some leftover orange slice from lunch.

 

On his bed was a note from Dean,

 

_Ate the last of penut butter_

_gone to get some more_

_Check salt lines cuz you know_

_Dads after a ghost in this town_

 

After a quick glance at the window to make sure there was still rock salt there, Sam sat on the bed and put his elbows on his knees so he could rest his chin in his hands.

 

“ _Think_ ”, Sam thought long and hard. He looked up from his spot back towards his ant farm. Being so ahead of some of his other classmates, Sam was allowed to take Biology for _high school credit_ while he was still in middle school. It wasn't that much different from a CP class, he just had a little more homework and a few more projects during the year. Watching the ants had been part of a school project. A project he had already turned in and got an A on.

 

Smirking at his new thoughts, Sam knew he was coming up with a sure fire way to get Dean off his back. Those ants had pretty much lived out most of their lives--and being simple worker ants without a Queen to lay more eggs...they were going to be dead soon anyways. It would be great if they could go out with a—

 

 _Bang_! The door slammed open and Dean walked in with groceries laden on both arms.

 

“Dang, Sammy, would it kill ya to help me out a little here?”

 

“Happy to,” Sam hopped up in a much better mood now knowing Dean was gonna pay for putting itching powder in his shirt.

 

Early the next morning, Sam woke up and rolled off his side of the bed; careful to not wake Dean up. Working with a little flashlight, he stirred his farm up a bit and watched the ants rise from their rest like revenants. He methodically poured them into the pants Dean was going to wear that day (he only had two pairs, one of which was not suitable for school), and slipped back into bed just before their alarm went off.

 

Dean shot up like a soldier before quickly heading to the toilet. Sam remained in bed and watched Dean come back out and get dressed through the pale light the bathroom cast.

 

“Wakey wakey, Sammy,” he nudged Sam's legs through the covers while slipping on his sneakers, “It's time to—HOLY CRAP!” Dean shouted followed by a shout that sounded something like, “NNNYAAAAGGHHH!”

 

Sam sat up and started to laugh when Dean started clawing at his jeans. Once his pants were around his ankles, Dean tried to jump out of them but was stopped by his shoes and so he toppled to the ground (“Son of a bitch!”). Several blissfully slow (for Sam anyway) seconds later Dean clamored his way back into the bathroom and into the rusty tub.

 

“Something wrong?” Sam called out innocently.

 

“Get your ass in here, _right now_!” Dean demanded over the running tap.

 

“No, I think I'm good waiting out here.”

 

“ _Sam_ ,” he was warned.

 

“What's up, big bro?” Sam walked over to the doorway and crossed his arms.

 

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT FOR?” yelled Dean.

 

“Some people get Nair in their shampoo; others get ants in their pants,” shrugged Sam, “You put itching powder in my shirt so I figured I'd make you itch a little.”

 

“THAT WAS DIFFERENT!”

 

“How?”

 

“Dude, I didn't mess with your _junk_!”

 

“We seem to be in agreement that this has escalated far enough, huh?” Sam said.

 

“If I say 'you win' will you rub Cortisone on my ass?”

 

“I can't see me winning in either scenario,” Sam bunched up his face.

 

“Please promise me you won't do this again,” Dean was more miserable than angry now; Sam could see that. Maybe these ants were dozens of tiny tickets out of these stupid tricks on each other.

 

“I won't if you won't,” he vowed.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
